The Little Things About Sherlock
by JeanBlaze
Summary: After living for almost a year in 221B Baker Street, John Watson thinks that he knows everything that there is to know about the world's only consulting detective... I mean what could there possibly be to learn about someone who keeps his heart so firmly locked up, but a certain diary tells John that there is a lot more to Sherlock Holmes's than what meets the eye.
1. Prologue

_*an ambulance wails in the background*_

_Blood… there's so much blood…_

"_ALEXIS!"_

"_I love you…"_

**XXX**

Sherlock Holmes woke with a start. He was confused – he never dreams… let alone have a nightmare... except on one day of the year. He grabbed his mobile to phone to check the date – it was as he feared – the 22nd of November. 'So it's that time of the year again…'

**XXX**

John Watson was comfortably seated with the morning's paper and cup of steaming black coffee, enjoying the bleak November sunshine in the living room in 221B Baker Street. There hadn't been much activity lately, no new cases, and John had begun settling into this lazy routine of tea, Mrs. Hudson's cooking and crap telly.

He had begun mentally listing the shows to watch today when his thoughts were interrupted by Mycroft Holmes, who barged into the living room – a departure from his usual polite knock. "Where is Sherlock?" he asked, nervously twirling is grandfather umbrella.

"Mycroft…?" John fumbled, shocked by the senior Holmes' presence in the flat. The brothers mostly couldn't stand the sight of each other, but now, here is the elder one, asking about the younger one. Something told John his peaceful days of lazing around would end today.

Mycroft didn't wait for John to get out of his shocked stupor and strode off into Sherlock's bedroom, again, without bothering to knock. John could hear the Holmes boys exchange a few words and then Sherlock's classic 'Say that again…' followed by the unmistakable scuffling of Sherlock messing up his room to find whatever he was looking.

Sherlock then came storming into the living room, yelling, "MRS. HUDSON!" "Sherlock…" John began, but he shot back at him, "Don't ask me if I'm fine John and no I don't need your help and no I don't want any breakfast and no I am not fretting about my cigarettes. So sit down and continue with your telly list and let me be!"

John was angry now… he was just worried about the only friend he had, he didn't deserve that outburst. But something about Sherlock's behavior told him that now was not the time for anger but was the time for patience. Now that John had calmed down, he realized that he had never seen Sherlock so haggard – he was pacing around, scratching his head nervously.

"Woo-hoo!" Mrs. Hudson announced as he walked in. Sherlock didn't even waste a single second to grab her by her shoulders. "My purple shirt!" he yelled, shaking her violently, "Where is it?" "Eh? You mean the one you gave me to launder yesterday? It's on the dry…" she whimpered. Sherlock sprinted downstairs, leaving a bamboozled John and Mrs. Hudson and a pensive Mycroft. "Oh… it's that day is it?" Mrs. Hudson said softly, tearing up a little. Then, without waiting for a reply, she walked out, sniffing a little.

In no time, Sherlock was back up in the living room, out of his pajamas and into his usual attire. John recognized the shirt – it was one of Sherlock's oldest – or so he guessed, by observing its condition. It had faded a bit and the stitching had begun to fray out.

John never understood why Sherlock hung onto this particular shirt. There were lot of other shirt's which he threw away even when a single thread came out of place. John always told him it would take minutes to fix it up but Sherlock would have none of it. "I would rather utilize the energy I would use to fix it on something far more interesting. Stop being so ordinary John" he would say in a single breath. But that one shirt – he took extremely good care of it… as if it was… 'No…' John told himself, smiling at his own foolishness, 'He is always above sentiment'

"John" Sherlock called, bring John out of his own little mind street, "If any clients come calling, tell them I'm unavailable today…" "What?" John said in shock, refusing to believe his ears. The world's only consulting detective was refusing to see clients! He never did that! Especially when just yesterday he brandishing his harpoon and cursing the inactiveness of London's underworld! "You heard me perfectly! No clients today!" he said impatiently as tied his scarf into a Parisian knot. Then with a curt nod to Mycroft, he walked out.

John just kept staring at Sherlock's retreating back. "What the bloody hell was all that about?" John asked Mycroft, who was still pensive. "Well, by judging your reaction I'm guessing you know nothing about the events that took place on this very day six years ago?" he replied. "Oh no, I know everything since Sherlock is always in mood for chatter!" John said sarcastically.

"You were right you know John, about that shirt" Mycroft continued thoughtfully, ignoring John's outburst, "He has kept that shirt for almost six years… sentiment John…" John just stared at Mycroft, his mouth partly open. He then regained his composure and managed, "Sherlock… and _sentiment_! You know your brother; you know he's not capable of that!" "He's not capable now… yes…" Mycroft said in his patronizing manner as he began rummaging the bookshelf near the fireplace, "But are you so sure about the past?"

"What do you even mean by that? Can you stop doing this please? Just tell me what's going on!" John retorted: he hated being treated like a child. "Sit down John," Mycroft said calmly, pulling out a dusty old diary from the shelf, "It's going to be a long story."

John didn't like to be told to sit down in his own flat, but he swallowed his pride at did it anyway – something told him whatever was coming next was important. "Have you ever heard the name Alexis McCalman?" Mycroft said, sitting down on the chair opposite to John. "McCalman…" John thought, racking his brain, "No I'm afraid not…" "Alexis McCalman was the last victim of a vicious serial killer whose tabloid name was Dr. Death, real name Harold Shipman."

"And this is significant because?" John said, unable to make the connection. Mycroft handed a picture which he had removed from the diary to him and said, "The woman in this picture is her." 'She is beautiful…' John thought – Alexis McCalman was petite with waist length jet black hair and ocean blue eyes. In the picture, she had her arms wrapped around an unusually tall, fair man with curly hair and prominent cheekbones… "Why… why is she with Sherlock!?" John exclaimed in shock as the realization hit him.

"That picture was taken just a few days before her death," Mycroft, his eyes speaking of the grief his words couldn't express. John stared at the picture; Alexis held Sherlock close to her, a natural smile adorning her fair face… as if hugging Sherlock Holmes was the most natural thing in the world. And what surprised John the most was that Sherlock wasn't bothered by it all… he seemed… relaxed… an amused smile tugging on his lips – Sherlock looked genuinely happy. John felt a sudden emptiness inside when he realized that didn't know Sherlock as well as he thought he did.

"Who is she Mycroft…?" John asked softly, unable to tear his eyes away from the picture. "Alexis McCalman is the only one who managed to show Sherlock that he wasn't as heartless as he thought he was…" Mycroft said gravely, "The only one with whom he was genuinely happy…"

**XXX**

**A/N: Ohhhk… Not my best… but it IS the Prologue, so I really can't say much of the story. This proved be a lot harder to write than I thought, I hope you guys liked it. The next chapter should be up soon… I don't intend to keep you guys waiting **

**A fair warning – there might be a few mistakes in the way I depict London life – I have never been to London ever and everything I know is from internet research, which can be far from the truth. So please bear with me on that. If there is a huge, as in a HUGE mistake, please do review and let me know.**

**Also, about reviews, I would really appreciate that all of you reading this story write a review – it's important! Reviews are the only way for me to know how my story is being accepted – even if you guys hated it, just tell me! Everything from criticism to what you guys like or don't like about the story, I request you guys to pen it down in the review section, it will only me help put up a better story. So please, please review!**

**P.S: A personal note to my best friend who is reading this story – I know I'm a little late to put up this story, but I hope you liked this chapter. Don't shoot daggers now, I'll put up the next one soon :P **


	2. Chapter 1: The Encounter

***Nine years ago***

September 23rd

Sherlock was his usual grumpy self as he took the solitary table at the end of the cafeteria for breakfast. He glanced through the menu – the traditional English breakfast. No wonder the place was full of morons with unused minds – with that heavy breakfast, no one gave their brains the adequate oxygen supply needed for effective use. With an exasperated sigh he saw his fellow hostel-mates stuff their faces with sausages like a pack of hungry wolves.

Why did college have to be such a bore? Honestly, it was just the first day and he could see the signs of abuse everybody had put their bodies through – the red eyes of a hangover, the bags under the eyes from smoking weed, the slight tiredness from the solo sexual activity… it was all so… dull! As he sat and sipped his black coffee, he reprimanded himself for having any expectations from college. When he joined the Psychology department for his undergraduate degree last year, he expected to be with a classroom full of bright individuals who would 'think'.

Imagine his astonishment and disappointment when he saw that even here, he had to put up with retards even worse than those he had to put up with in high school. As time passed, disappointment turned to disgust – disgust at everybody's 'ordinary' mindset, their pettiness. He was shocked that even the Psychology department was filled with copy machines who just inhaled everything the professors blew at them like passive drug addicts without questioning even the bawdiest flaws of logic. He knew it was only his good grades that stopped his lectures from kicking him out inspite of him making them feel like a tit in every class.

"Good Morning Freak!" a loud voice announced, bringing Sherlock back to the cafeteria. "Oh, Sebastian. Morning" he said dryly. He hated it when someone called him a freak. It was everyone else who were freaks with their ordinary, boring thoughts, not him. "C'mon now! Cheer up! It's the first day, what are you so down weather about?" "I think the term you are looking for here is 'under the weather' Sebastian" Sherlock corrected, smirking as his neighbor's nose crinkled in irritation.

Sebastian Wilkes, who was a business management student living in the room adjacent to his, was one of the few people Sherlock found more amusing than annoying. He could never place Sebastian's bloated image of his own self-importance and intelligence and Sherlock found immense pleasure in mocking him. "Anyways," Sebastian continued, shrugging off the insult, "Do you wanna hang out with us lot and have some fun?" "I'm sure our ideas of fun differ quite a lot," Sherlock said as nonchalantly as possible, but his ears perked up in curiosity.

"Oh you will like this," Sebastian continued, "The freshmen are gonna have their orientation ceremony in the auditorium soon. Let's show them whose boss shall we?" Sherlock liked the idea of bullying the freshmen; it would take him about a minute to find the stupid ones and a few seconds to show them their rightful place. It might put some color into this dreary September morning.

So he, along with Sebastian and few others of their hostel-mates walked out of the cafeteria and made their way to the auditorium, pulling their coats around them a little more tightly to protect themselves from the chilly September breeze. The campus was as Sherlock had predicted it to be – full of woozy eyed freshmen gawking at their surroundings. It was hard for him to digest that he was just one of that ordinary lot a year ago. They made themselves comfortable in the row of benches a little away from the auditorium. Sherlock was a little excited at the prospect of frightening the juniors, but his excitement soon died out when the others around him satisfied themselves by ogling at every female entering the auditorium and making a few lecherous and lewd remarks.

Sherlock never understood this aspect about the male psych. His mother had once, in an extremely awkward manner, explained to him that it was completely normal, but he never understood the motivation behind it. He scanned his companions, who were fervently discussing the body proportions of a particular blonde that had entered the auditorium – flushed faces, involuntary stretching of facial muscles, dilated pupils… it meant one thing – excitement. And this is exactly what puzzled Sherlock Holmes: what was so exciting about this!?

Sherlock slowly tuned out his companions as his eyes darted the surroundings to find something interesting. He was about to give up when one girl in particular caught his wandering eye. Unlike his companions, it was not her external features that caught his fancy. Not to say that she wasn't pretty – dressed in a knee length skirt and powder blue blouse perfected with ankle boots, stockings and a white cardigan, Sherlock decided that she was an eye candy after all.

But that was later; what caught his eye was the way she walked – with brisk, purposeful strides, her eyes – which were either green or blue, he couldn't judge from that distance – looked around curiously, not dreamily like the other freshmen. The air around her was steeped with sharp intelligence, which instantly attracted him – not that he understood the emotion of course. He was just plainly confused at the interest his brain took in this particular person.

"Oh! Look everyone, Sherlock found a pretty one for himself!" Sebastian grinned. Sherlock was fairly annoyed as the rest of them began to hoot – why did these buffoons have to butt in when he FINALLY found something worth his attention. "You were eager to bully the freshmen weren't you?" Sebastian said, clasping Sherlock's shoulders, "Well then behold, you're first victim!" "Don't be ridiculous!" Sherlock protested, shrugging off Sebastian as picked up his sling bag and proceeded to walk away.

"Are you chickening out Holmes? Don't think you can hold it in front of a pretty girl?" a voice taunted him, one that belonged to a midget named Martin if he remembered correctly. This was enough to piss him off; chicken out and him? Sherlock slowly turned around and said icily, "Watch me." The girl was now standing a little away, staring at the map of the campus, her brow furrowed in deep thought. He went and stood right in front her, startling her. "Uhhh… May I help you?" she asked politely, her ocean blue eyes boring into his sky blue ones.

"Well you should know that you are in no position to help me out when you yourself are confused about the location of the auditorium." "How did you…?" Sherlock took a deep breath and launched his attack, "By the way you hold yourself I can see that you are trained dancer, ballet would be my guess seeing your well-developed calf muscles. Your watch is set five minutes ahead of time, which would mean you like being punctual; but you are running late for the orientation ceremony. Your hair is perfectly tied into a ponytail and the laces of your boot are perfectly tied as well. If you were running late, you wouldn't have bothered with such detail; that means when you did dress up you believed you had enough time to do so. If you were living in campus, you wouldn't have made a mistake like that, so you are a day scholar. Living somewhere around Central London I'm sure judging by the dirt on your stocking, which would have come from the pipeline constructions currently going on in that area. You've recently moved into London or else you wouldn't have underestimated the London traffic. So clearing your confusion, the auditorium is building right here and you would be requested to sit down on the third row from the back on the left side because that's where the Biotechnology students have to sit down."

Her eyes went from confused to amused and then settled on mildly impressed; which surprised Sherlock – he expected her to clonk him in the head with her copy of The Principles of Biochemistry by Albert Lehninger which was peeking out of her sling bag. She then took a step back and scanned him from top to bottom. "My turn?" she asked, her ocean blue eyes shining with mischief. "I don't understand…" Sherlock began but she cut him short.

"Well with the air of haughtiness you addressed me, you are obviously a senior. But just a second year I think. You are not someone who is extremely social and the little social circle you do have here well treats you like some sort of amusing misfit. You think you are superior to everyone but you still don't want to be left out – even by those people you deem to be stupid, which suggests a strong desire to be accepted. And finally, you are Psychology student with an extremely doting mother who practically smothers you" she said in one breath.

Sherlock Holmes was baffled. He stood staring at the girl in front of him in astonishment – everything she had said about him was completely right. Waves of emotion washed over him, almost drowning him – surprise, awe, confusion and above all; irritation. For the first time, Sherlock Holmes understood what it felt like to be on the other side.

"I'm sure I got everything right" she said with a satisfied smile. Then she went on ahead towards the auditorium. But just after a few more steps, she turned back and said, "That was pretty impressive you know, but you could have done a little better" Now he was positively angry, him and _better_? His first day of the new semester turned out to be more colorful than he could have ever imagined.

"I'm Alexis McCalman" she said with a wink, "and I hope whole heartedly to see you around soon, Mr. Sherlock Holmes." She then disappeared into the double doors of the auditorium.

Sherlock just stared at the double doors, absolutely gobsmacked. His otherwise organized mind was in complete turmoil as if it couldn't decide whether he should angry or impressed. When his brain finally calmed down, there was just one burning question dancing in his head. "How in the bloody hell did she know my name?" he blurted out indignantly, ignoring the amused sniggers of his companions.

**XXX**

**A/N: Wow… this chapter was a complete blast to write! Hope you guys had fun too. **

**Did you like it? Something seem odd? Any constructive criticism? Whatever you guys felt, please pen it down in the reviews section – reviews are extremely motivating! **

**P.S: My dear Ostrich, I told you it will be up soon. Happy now? :P **


	3. Chapter 2: The Park Bench Discussion

September 29th

Sherlock Holmes was beyond frustrated. So frustrated that he didn't even hear Professor Maben's lecture on Psychological Research; which is saying something because he took immense pleasure in insulting his method of teaching.

He had always hated leaving conversations without a definitive conclusion – _his _conclusion. He always had the final say… even with his quick-witted but lazy elder brother Mycroft. But it had been a week since the dialogue in front of the auditorium, and he still didn't have the answers, he still didn't know how she did it.

He had absolutely no idea how Alexis McCalman knew his name.

Sometimes, he was almost convinced that the memory was created by his overly bored mind trying to put some color into his dull existence. But the sniggers and jokes of his hostel-mates told him otherwise. Ever since that day, Sebastian and co didn't let go of a single opportunity to remind Sherlock that he had been outwitted. _"The great Sherlock Holmes is just a man after all!"_ his neighbor's condescending voice boomed in his head, "_All his wit washed away with a pretty girl's wink."_

This did nothing to better Sherlock's already foul mood. How dare they put him in the same league as them? Whatever interest he showed in Alexis McCalman was purely intellectual – he needed answers from her, that's all! It was ridiculous to think he had any other sort of interest.

As if on cue, her face swam in front of Sherlock's eyes. With slight smirk he closed his eyes and replayed the entire scene. He was not going to lie to himself – he was impressed. He remembered the self-satisfied look on her face when she was done dissecting him. Oh he was going to cherish the look on her face when he would have the final say – the next time, he will surprise her. He won't go down without a fight.

Sherlock remembered a few other things about her as well – he remembered the peculiar ocean blue color of her eyes as they twinkled with mischief. He remembered the satin of her powder blue blouse, the lavender sling bag, the black band with small, white flowers she had used to tie her jet black, glossy hair. He even remembered the slight tingle in his nose from the scent of jasmines in her perfume…

Sherlock Holmes' eyes flew open in horror. Why the hell did he remember such unimportant details about this person? This was atrocious, he decided. All that had to go; he would never allow his head to be filled with nonsense like everyone around him. He took a deep breath to calm himself and steadily progressed to remove every thought about her out.

But instead of complying, his mind played the thoughts he so desperately wanted out with renewed vigor – the color of her nails, her height, her gait, her walking pace… And this did nothing but infuriate Sherlock. He was already having a crap week with unanswered questions doing cartwheels in his head, now he had to deal with her twirling her pretty form in his mind. This was too much for him to bear.

"Aargh! Get out of my head!" he yelled, scratching his head in frustration. "Is there a problem Mr. Holmes?" Professor Maben asked with an exhausted sigh. It was then Sherlock realized he was still in class. An angry flush made its way through his neck and spread over his cheekbones as the entire class focused their attention on him – some faces disapproving, some amused, some mocking. "I asked you something," the Professor asked again, annoying Sherlock even more.

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes to calm himself down, trying to push the thoughts about a certain black-haired person out of his head. When he thought he was steady enough, he snapped open his eyes and fixing his lecturer with a cold stare, he said "Yes I have a problem Professor Oswald Maben; I think the reference book you use is too outdated for the subject. Thus I find this lecture extremely redundant and your monotonous droning doesn't help."

A vein popped in the Professor's forehead as he retorted back, nearly shouting, "Well then if you think you are so clever, then why don't you carry on your studies somewhere else? Like for instance, out of this classroom!" Sherlock drummed his fingers triumphantly on his desk – this was the exact outcome he wanted. With a smug smile, he swept his books into his bag and stood up, saying, "An excellent suggestion Professor. The only useful advice you have given in your entire career."

He then made his way to the exit of the classroom, smirking at the dumbfounded expressions his classmates had on their face. Then right before walking out, he flashed a smile at Professor Maben, which sent the portly, bald man into a fit of rage. Sherlock chuckled as the classroom door banged shut behind him.

A cold breeze met Sherlock when he walked out of the academic building. The sun had begun to set, coloring the sky in different hues of red and orange. As a result, the entire world seemed to be bathed in a hazy, golden light. The leaves of the Copper Beeches lining the campus had taken on various shades of red, gold and brown. In short, the world looked like a scene right out of a medieval painting.

And Sherlock loved it.

As much as Sherlock hated the inhabitants of the university, he loved the scenic beauty of it. London was a little too noisy for Sherlock's taste, so liked he the fact that the university campus was quiet and peaceful – perfect to ease his racing mind.

Sherlock began walking towards his favorite spot in the campus, which was a square with perfectly mowed grass surrounded by Cooper Beeches with a few concrete benches here and there. Situated behind the auditorium, it was a little cut-off from the rest of the campus and thus, mostly isolated – which suited Sherlock perfectly. It kept him away from the pointless banter of college; allowing him to sink into the deep recesses of his mind without any interruption.

While Sherlock was musing about the beauty and silence, his feet quickly covered considerable ground and soon he reached the square. He scanned the area and found that it was completely deserted… expect for one person… one female person who had her back to him. A female person with long, black hair, a lavender sling bag resting by her side.

Sherlock Holmes' feet felt rooted to the ground as he stared in disbelief. For a week, a _week_, he had scoured the campus, even glided by the Biotechnology section of the library… and just when he had almost given up on finding her, there she was, in a place where he had least expected her to be.

But then again, he had to be sure it was her. As he slowly walked towards the bench, a gust of wind blew around the square, bringing in the usual damp scent of fall with it… and mingled in that, was a light trace of jasmine.

The scent confirmed Sherlock's doubt and now he was at a loss for words. He had run several permutations and combinations through his head, had thought up a list of witty remarks; but now that the time had come to deliver, he found himself completely confused. Then, irritation dominated the confusion; irritation towards himself.

Sherlock mentally slapped himself. What the hell was wrong with him? All he needed were the answers to a few questions, what was he fretting over? He shook his head to clear the nonsense, wore the smuggest expression he could muster and covered the rest of the distance with few quick, long strides. "Hello again," he said, his baritone voice echoing slightly through the square.

He expected her to gasp and turn around, then sigh in relief when she recognized him. He then expected her to give him a smile and ask him to sit down. Then he could get all the answers he wanted and be done with this affair.

What he didn't expect her to do was knock the wind out of him.

Sherlock Holmes had no idea what had happened as he doubled over, gasping for air. Then he felt a small, strong hand grab a fistful of his curly hair and pull him up. His vision was a little blurry due to the tears in his eyes, but clear enough to see Alexis McCalman's brow furrowed in concentration as she prepared to punch his face. Then he saw concentration being replaced with confusion and then horror as she recognized whom she had attacked.

She let out a small yelp as she let go of his hair. "Jesus! Oh my god, are you okay?" she cried out. "Well do I look okay to you?" Sherlock croaked, sitting down heavily on the bench. Alexis sat down a little away from him, nervously twirling a strand of her long hair, which she had left loose today. She then proceeded to twist the hem of her white jumper, and then fidget with her purple scarf as she waited for Sherlock to catch his breath.

"What was that for?" Sherlock finally said; his voice still a little hoarse. "Well you kind of startled me…" Alexis said in a small voice, "It was just reflex."

"Is it reflex to punch someone when they say hello?" Sherlock retorted, rubbing his chest where she had punched him.

"What did you expect? You came from behind. And this place is completely deserted, so I freaked out. It was self-defense!" she snapped back.

The two of them sat in an awkward silence, glancing at each other from time to time, wondering if the other one would break the ice. Sherlock noticed her face was flushed; she was still embarrassed about what had happened earlier. A little more than a year later, Sherlock would think Alexis looked adorable; but now, he was plain annoyed. Annoyed at the slight, throbbing pain in his chest – annoyed that Alexis McCalman had taken him by surprise –again.

"So…" Alexis said tentatively, "Hello." She had stopped fidgeting with her scarf and her shoulders were relaxed. Her ocean blue eyes were fixed on him, her tilted just slightly towards him. Sherlock decided that she was open for conversation.

Without further ado, he said, "Why did you say that I could have done better?"

"Well because you could have done better" she replied calmly, a smug smile on her lips, "You got a couple of things wrong about me"

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise – his logic had been flawless; there was no way he had got anything wrong. She was bluffing, that was the only possible solution. "Prove it then" he challenged.

"Your conclusion that I had just moved to London is wrong. I have been living in London for almost my whole life"

"But your watch showed you like to be punctual," Sherlock countered, "And you had taken care into the way you looked. If you were running late, you wouldn't have bothered"

"But you are forgetting that it was my first day, so I was extra conscious about the way I looked," she said calmly, "I wanted to make a good impression, so I ended up taking more time to dress up. Then of course the London traffic did the rest"

Sherlock opened his mouth to contradict her, but there was nothing to say. He realized that she was right. He was furious with himself for not entertaining the possibility. But he would not admit that to her, he will not give her the satisfaction of proving him wrong.

"There was nothing else I got wrong" Sherlock said haughtily.

Alexis smirked as she said, "I'm not a Biotechnology student"

"But how?" Sherlock almost yelled in annoyance, "There was a copy of The Principles of Biochemistry by Albert Lehninger in your bag. Biochemistry is one of the core subjects for that branch!"

"And is also a subject for other fields like Medicine, Pharmacy, Pathology and Forensic Science" Alexis said as she picked up the said book, which had fallen down when she had gotten up to punch Sherlock, "There was too less data for you to make that assumption" Then she rummaged her bag and pulled out a box and placed on the bench in the space between them. "And then there was this"

"A dissection kit" Sherlock hissed in annoyance.

"Yup" she said cheerfully, "If you had looked a little more carefully, you could have seen this in my bag. If you had, your conclusion would have been…"

"Forensic Science"

"Which is correct!"

It took Sherlock all his will power not to hit himself with the dissection kit. How could he have been so stupid?

"When I said you could do better," Alexis continued "I meant that you needn't be so hasty. Your logic was flawless, but one needs to rule out all possibilities before drawing a conclusion."

Sherlock just pouted like a little child. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but he knew she was right – he had been too hasty to draw conclusions. His own eagerness to bully her led him to make a mistake. But, never, ever will he say that in front of her.

Just at that exact moment, he heard a giggle. Sherlock whipped around to find Alexis laughing. "What are you laughing at?" he asked.

"You," she said in amusement, "You are acting like a little child being told off by a teacher."

"No I'm not!" he yelled, which just sent Alexis into a fit of laughter again.

"You still haven't explained how you saw all those things about me," Sherlock said as indifferently as he could, trying to change the topic.

Alexis wiped the tears in her eyes and said, "I thought you already know"

"Humor me"

"Well, the attitude with which you were speaking to me clearly showed seniority" Alexis said, "But you were there, right outside the auditorium to catch unsuspecting freshmen. Too eager; as though desperate to flaunt your new status. So, senior, but desperate – second year"

Sherlock gave a curt nod; it was exactly what he would have concluded.

"What about the rest?"

"Are you sure you want know?" Alexis asked, the look in her eye changing from amusement to something entirely different, something Sherlock couldn't place.

"Why would I not want to know?"

"You might find it… invasive."

"Try me"

Alexis only stared at him with that same, odd look. She then took a deep breath and said, "When you walked up to me, I noticed a bunch of other boys behind you, who were watching you carefully. But you didn't turn back to look at them even once. Their interest in you clearly showed you were with them, but your complete ignorance to them and their attention showed you weren't particularly close. A second year student would never step out to do something like making a pass at juniors alone; he would only do that with his close friend circle. But those boys weren't close to you. Which means you were with them because you didn't have other choice of companionship; thus, not social."

Sherlock felt himself stiffen, he was not sure if he wanted to hear what she was going to say next.

Alexis continued, "When you were talking to me, I could see them sniggering. They even exchanged a few pounds amongst each other – they were betting on the outcome of our conversation. You could say that people do that with close friends; but they weren't your close friends, obviously. Thus, they were making fun of you – misfit."

Sherlock always knew that the others back-bitched about him, but hearing it from someone else's mouth made it hurt. Hurt that he was ridiculed for just being who he is.

"Go on" Sherlock said quietly, not looking at her.

"I don't want to"

"Why not?"

"Because I can see that you don't like it"

Sherlock couldn't help but look at her, half expecting to see a mocking smile on her face. But there was nothing even close to that on her face; on the contrary, she was staring at her hands, as though ashamed. She was genuinely sorry.

"And that matters to you how?" Sherlock asked, "You just deduced that I'm an anti-social person whom people constantly make fun of. Why would you care about how I felt?"

"Because you are not 'anti-social', you are just socially awkward;" Alexis replied calmly, "All you want is to be accepted by the people around you. That's why you want to impress everyone. You're not anti-social; you're misunderstood, that's all. You think you are better than everybody else but that's not the reason you dislike people; you dislike people because your logical reasoning can't understand them… and they can't understand you."

Sherlock could do nothing but stare at Alexis. He had never met anyone quite like her before. He couldn't understand how she saw right through him by just observing him. He had assumed emotions had no place in logic. Which is exactly why he had so much trouble with social interactions – his mind always interpreted logically and emotions never came into the picture; it was out of his understanding.

And then there was Alexis McCalman – who dissected his emotions on the basis of logic; emotions he thought he had let go a long time ago.

She was like him… but not like him at the same time. And Sherlock Holmes was, in a way, fascinated by that.

They sat in silence again, but this time it was not awkward… it was a comfortable one.

"It's time to leave don't you think?" Alexis said finally, "It's getting dark now…"

Sherlock looked up at the sky and saw the red and orange had been replaced by black and purple, stars appearing like tiny pin-pricks on a black canvas.

Sherlock just hummed in agreement and followed Alexis out of square. They didn't say anything till they reached the auditorium entrance.

"You still haven't explained a couple of things," Sherlock said.

Alexis turned to face him, a naughty smile on her face, "I'm impressed Mr. Holmes. I thought you've forgotten about that."

"I don't miss anything" Sherlock smirked.

"Well, Psychology was just a guess" Alexis grinned. Then she burst out laughing when she saw the dumbfounded look on Sherlock's face.

"Guess!" Sherlock exclaimed, scratching his head, "Now don't tell me you just 'guessed' my name…"

"Wow… your mother is really smart… you didn't even notice…" Alexis said with raised eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock knew his mother was smart, but he would never admit it to her, ever. But didn't understand how she came into the picture here.

"Your trench coat… it got damaged recently didn't it?"

"Yes it did… my mother fixed it… so?"

"The damage was along the hem. Your mum fixed the frayed stitching with white thread, in contrast to the black color of your coat" Alexis said, pointing the area.

Sherlock shrugged out of his coat and observed the hem carefully. His mum had fixed it with zig-zag patterns which initially seemed random.

"The stitching is not random… look carefully…" Alexis prompted.

Sherlock looked again and this time he saw it – among the randomness, he saw it... complete in cursive – _Sherlock Holmes_.

"Oh god! That woman!" Sherlock cried out. If Mycroft saw this… ever… he would have to endure the 'baby brother' jokes for eternity.

"Don't say that!" Alexis reprimanded, "She was just worried that your coat might get misplaced. And since, I'm sure, you didn't bother to put any sort of identification mark, she just went ahead and did it for you!"

Alexis giggled when Sherlock grumpily wore his trench coat again. He would have to something about that stitching soon.

"I'd better be off," Alexis said, smiling. She then held out her right hand and said, "Let's start over… you know… like normal people."

Sherlock usually ran as far away from normal as he possibly could; but as he stared at her dainty hand held out in front of him, he felt this time normal seemed good… enticing even. It was a curious feeling, something entirely new to him.

He grasped her hand and shook it firmly.

"Sherlock"

"Alexis"

"See you tomorrow then, Sherlock?" she asked.

Sherlock was a little taken aback by the question. People usually were ever eager to get away from him as soon as possible. For the first time, someone had taken some sort of interest in his company. It filled him with a warm sort of feeling he never really understood; but after a little pondering, he decided he liked it. He also decided that he liked her company as well.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Alexis."


End file.
